Saturday, December 17, 2011

Last night was that annual rite of parental torture, the Wingnut Elementary School band holiday concert.

My kids like playing in the school band, so, as supportive parents, we pay the instrument rental fees, put up with their unearthly screeching practice sessions in the living room, and attend the 2 annual concerts.

Elementary school band concerts are never a blast. They're held in the school cafeteria, meaning you have to sit at long lunch tables designed to be partially comfortable only for people half your size.

The kids really do try (at least most of them) but are still often out of sync and flat. And then there's the music selection. After the first 2 numbers all the songs start to sound A LOT alike. And they all sound like "Hot Cross Buns," which you've already heard played in your home so many times that you want to barf.

These things last about an hour, but seem like much longer. You sit there, politely clapping after each number, and hope your kids don't notice that you've dozed off or started playing Angry Birds.

As veterans, Mrs. Grumpy and I came well prepared. We sat in a far row where our kids couldn't see if we were playing scrabble doing medical research on our iPhones, and brought some Diet Cokes. You can always tell which parents are first timers, because they sit in the first row and bring cameras.

But this year, we had an unexpected reprieve.

At 18 minutes into the performance, during "Good King Wenceslas" a kid playing oboe abruptly projectile vomited into the first row, showering a group of eager parents with a partially digested Happy Meal. The other band members stopped, then valiantly tried to restart for a few seconds, but were so horribly out of sync as they tried to both read music and watch the new entertainment that it was a lost cause. Barf Guy's mom heroically leaped onto the stage and tried to use her husband's sweater (fortunately with him out of it) to clean it up. Then the kid heaved some more.

After about 30 seconds the band teacher politely said "Thank you all for coming, and Happy Holidays. Is the janitor still here?"

I feel sorry for this kid. Because from now on until he moves away to college he'll be known not as Mike or Steve or Mason, but simply as "the kid who puked during the holiday concert."

28 comments:

If you live in a small town, it never really goes away. I still remember Bri, who, in 2nd grade, became "the girl who puked in her desk and had a notebook cemented to the bottom at the end of the year as a result." Yes, in her desk. Remember those horrible metal desks with the lift-up tops?

Oh no, that poor kid. And those things seem to spread fast, hope you don't catch it! But hey, at least it helped you get out of there fast and made it a little more interesting. ;)

My son's school concerts always get hijacked by the PTA. They start at 6:30 but they really don't. At 6:30 it becomes a PTA meeting...it's the only way the PTA can get anyone to show up at their meetings, hijack a concert! The concerts never seems to start until 7:30. The kids, however, are required to be there by 6:15...if your kid is in the show, their is no escaping the damn PTA meeting!

I had to laugh so hard at this one! And then I would go home and quiz my child to see how much of the barf bug he was in contact with (was he friends with Heavin' Steve) and wonder whether we would all have that same virus for Christmas.

As eldest of my parents' more than six offspring whose children's school careers were launched at annual school concerts, and a parent of offspring born a decade apart... forty years of vain hope attending concerts waiting for the concert of a sibling or daughter at Orchestra Hall with the CSO.

Projectile vomiting stories are always the best. Those with sympathetic reaction are even better. Keep up the good work. You are spot on with the recitals. Although, at one I cried, my son who was not scholastically gifted played a solo over misgivings of teacher that brought the house down, it was Christmas 2001, he played God Bless America. The teacher had been overuled by the Principal who said let the kid play after auditioning him. Kids love em .

In Puerto Rico we also have those, although it usually involves a renactment of the Nativity scene, and the kids singing traditional Christmas songs. I usually enjoyed the songs, but what was really entertaining was the looks the other girls gave the one elected to be the Virgin Mary. Ah! If looks could kill! Every girl wanted to be the Virgin Mary...

Oboe: 1) An ill woodwind that blows no good; 2)used to set bassoons on fire.

I used to be a semi-pro bassoonist, and once cleared out the lobby of my dorm by practicing the really, really high notes in the lobby conference room. Yup. Sounded like a couple of cats were dying horrible deaths in there!

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